The Problem With Non-Linear Timelines
by Scrawlers
Summary: As far as the Ninth Doctor can tell, Rose got wearing leather jackets from him. From little Tony Tyler's perspective, however, that's not quite how it happened . . . [AU, of sorts. Very light Doctor/Rose]


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Doctor Who or any of its properties. If I did, Steven Moffat would not be in charge right now.

**Notes: **This was written forever ago and posted to Tumblr. In an attempt to update this account with some things, I decided to post it here.

This is a snippet from an idea I had for an alternate 50th anniversary—one that would have included a large number of past companions _and _would have included the Ninth Doctor, specifically _after _he initially offered Rose a trip in the TARDIS but _before _he went back and asked Rose if he mentioned that the TARDIS also traveled in time. (Because after all, while it was only a few seconds for her, we have no idea how long it was for him.) For the purposes of this AU 50th, the 50th took place in the alternate universe, a few years after "Journey's End."

Anyway, that should be all the background information you need, but if you're interested in further details of this AU idea, shoot me a message and I'll link you to the post I made on tumblr.

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><p><strong>The Problem with Non-Linear Timelines<strong>

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><p>"Is that a sonic scoodriver?"<p>

The Doctor's finger slid off the button of his sonic screwdriver, causing the light to dim and the buzzing to cease, to look down at the source of the voice. He hadn't noticed the little boy wander into the room, though given how focused he was on trying to reroute the polarity of the Dimension Cannon's control panel (because he didn't care what Rose and his apparent Meta-Crisis self said, the thing was dangerous and needed to be destroyed), maybe that wasn't so much of a surprise. The child had tousled blond hair and big brown eyes, and to be honest looked to be a bit too young to be wandering around a place like Torchwood (but then, _no one _should be wandering around a place like Torchwood, child or not), but the Doctor still gave the kid a little smile as he replied.

"sonic s_crew_driver, yeah," he corrected, though gently, because it wasn't the kid's fault he'd missed an 'r' in there. The kid didn't seem to take the correction the wrong way, at any rate; his face lit up in a toothy smile, one side of his mouth quirked up a little more than the other, as if he knew something other people didn't.

"The Doctor's got one of those, too," he said, and the Doctor raised his eyebrows.

"I would hope so, given that he's me," he said. This seemed to confuse the boy, for his eyebrows knitted together and he tilted his head to the side.

"Nu-uh. The Doctor doesn't look like you," he said, and he reached up a hand to tug at his own blond locks. "The Doctor's got lotsa hair, and his eyes are different."

It occurred to the Doctor, then, that the child was probably referring to his Meta-Crisis self. Well, it was either him or the git in the bow-tie, but either way, the Doctor couldn't blame the child for being confused. He squatted down to get more on the kid's level, so he could look him directly in the eyes as he gave what he hoped was a reassuring, winning smile. It had been a long time since he'd had to give one of those; he was sure he was out of practice.

"I've had many faces, me," he said. "You're just thinking of one of my other ones. It's not your fault, though, there are too many of us running around right now. Three too many, in fact." The little boy pursed his lips, as if deep in thought.

"So he's the Doctor . . . and you're the Doctor, too?" he asked. The Doctor nodded. "But if you're the Doctor, how come your ears are so big?" This time it was the Doctor's turn to frown, and he self-consciously raised one hand up to his ear. Before he could protest, the little boy added, "And how come your voice's so funny? You sound like you're from the north."

"Lots of planets have a north," the Doctor said defensively, and as the words left his mouth for the second time in a twenty-four hour period, the flash of déjà vu finally connected the dots in his brain. "Hang on, you're not . . ."

"It's okay, I can be here!" the little boy said, a note of panic in his voice, clearly misunderstanding what the Doctor was about to ask. "'Cause . . . 'Cause Rose just said not to get in trouble, and the Doctor said not to get in too _much _trouble and Daddy just said I couldn't touch anything or get in the way and I'm not in the way or touching anything right now." The little boy held up his hands, as evidence that he wasn't touching anything he wasn't supposed to. "Promise."

The Doctor couldn't help it. For some reason, the earnest, sincere promise that he wasn't causing any trouble (even though the Doctor was pretty sure that Rose, his Meta-Crisis self, and the boy's unnamed father were probably having a fit a few floors below looking for him) caused a smile that was a bit more genuine than before to split his lips. In one fluid movement he scooped the boy up and set him on the table next to the control panel, and as the boy's eyes went wide, the Doctor winked.

"This'll be our little secret then, that all right?" he asked. "You touching that table to sit on it, that is." The boy considered this for a moment before he beamed, and once again, the Doctor was hit with a strong feeling of déjà vu.

"Yeah!"

"Right then." The Doctor turned back to the control panel and once again activated setting forty-two on his sonic screwdriver, and the boy kicked his legs back and forth as he watched the Doctor work.

"So, how come you wear that jacket?" the boy asked. "Rose has one like that. Do you wanna be like her?" Once again, the Doctor clicked off his sonic screwdriver, and gave the little boy a borderline offended look.

"Oi, if anyone is wearing a leather jacket to be like anyone, then Rose is wearing one to be like me." The little boy crossed his arms, still kicking his legs back and forth.

"But Rose had one first," he said. "And how come she'd wanna be like you? Rose is way better." This time the Doctor's look was outright offended instead of borderline, but the child seemed not to notice as he continued on. "She saves the world, and is real funny and—and _brill-i-ant," _the boy paused to take a moment to look pleased with himself for saying the word correctly, "and she's a lot of fun, and she's real nice, and real brave, and did you see? With the Sycari—er, Syca . . . Syci . . . those big aliens in the big spaceship? Rose saved the day and made 'em go away!" The little boy waved his arms over his head to accentuate his point. "She's the best big sister in the whole universe, and she's my best friend, too. And so it's okay if you wanna be like her, and wear a jacket like her and stuff." The little boy reached out to pat the Doctor's arm. "I want to, too."

As touching as it might have been for the little boy to idolize his sister in any other situation, the Doctor still couldn't help but feel mildly annoyed. "Listen, I met your sister, years ago. Years before you were even born," he said. "So believe me when I say that if anyone was wearing a leather jacket first, it was—"

"Rose!" the little boy cried, and the Doctor was about to correct him when he noticed that the boy was staring over the Doctor's shoulder. The Doctor turned to see Rose Tyler striding across the room, wearing the blue leather jacket the little boy had been thinking of, a look of pure relief on her face.

"_There _you are, Tony. Don't go running off like that. You nearly gave Dad and me a heart attack." As she reached him she pulled the little boy—Tony—down off the table and set him on the floor, thereafter reaching down to ruffle his hair. Tony looked up at her with a toothy grin.

"S'okay, Rose, I was just talking with this Doctor. Didja know he's the Doctor, too? And he wants to be just like you!" The Doctor huffed.

"I do _not_—"

"Does he?" Rose interrupted, sounding amused. She turned to give the Doctor a grin, and somehow, much of the annoyance he had been feeling dissipated. "Guess we're just following each other's examples, then."

And with that, the remaining irritation the Doctor had felt melted away, and the smile he gave in response to tongue-in-teeth grin was—somehow, against all logic—completely genuine.


End file.
